Delicate
by hughville
Summary: Written for the Secret Santa Ficathon over at house cameron on Live Journal. Set after "Teamwork" in S6. Contains some spoilers. Cameron goes to see House one last time.


**A/N: This is for the Secret Santa Ficathon over at the house_cameron community on Live Journal. This is written for razor840 who requested the following:**

_**3 things I want:**_

1. Stacy and Cameron having a conversation (a real conversation) about House and how Cameron feels about him.

2. Cameron working out (treadmill, bike, something).

3. Wilson and Cameron talking about death and how it has touched their lives.

3 things I don't want:

1. House being too emotional about anything.

2. Cameron crying or acting weak.

3. "I love you" being said by anyone.

I don't mind reading smut.

**Happy Holidays!! **

~*~*~*~

Stacy Warner sat at her desk working on a contract. Soft music drifted around her. She didn't have any appointments today so she was catching up on paperwork. She was finding it hard to concentrate on the contract in front of her. Her mind kept drifting back to her conversation with James Wilson the week before. He'd called to tell her that Greg House, the man she loved more than any other, had been in a psychiatric hospital and was no longer addicted to Vicodin. He'd also told her about Greg losing Allison Cameron. Wilson told her that Cameron married Robert Chase but things had not gone well for them. Wilson didn't give specifics because he didn't know them. He simply told her that Greg had lost Cameron. Stacy knew that Cameron had been important to Greg. He'd been attracted to her; drawn to her innocence and compassionate nature. Stacy had been surprised to hear that Cameron married Chase. She always assumed Cameron and Greg would end up together. She smiled as she remembered what Greg always said about assumptions. "When you assume, you are a pain in the ass to me."

Her intercom buzzed, startling her. She picked up the phone. A frown marred her face as her assistant talked.

"Send her in," Stacy said. She opened her desk drawer and slipped the contract into a file. She looked up as the door opened and Allison Cameron walked in.

~*~*~*~

They decided to go to a local diner. Stacy often met her husband, Mark, for lunch at the homey little restaurant. Now she sat in a booth in the back across from Cameron. The other woman had changed; rather drastically, Stacy thought. The dark hair was now blonde; the sweet innocence had been replaced by a cool indifference. She listened as Cameron calmly told her everything that happened. Stacy felt her stomach knot as Cameron related the events surrounding the death of the African dictator, Dibala. Stacy had read about it and seen it on the news. She had no idea that Chase had killed the man. Her stomach began to churn as Cameron told her how Greg, Chase and Foreman had lied to her, deliberately keeping her in the dark. Stacy saw the momentary flash of anguish that crossed the younger woman's face when she talked about saying goodbye to Greg.

"You told him you loved him," Stacy said finally.

Cameron gripped her mug of coffee and stared down into the murky liquid. "Yes," she replied quietly.

"What did Greg say?"

Cameron laughed. It was a harsh, mirthless laugh. "He tried to justify himself at first, but in the end he said nothing. What could he say?"

"That he loved you?" Stacy questioned softly.

Cameron shook her head and closed her eyes briefly. Stacy could see anguish darkening her eyes. "He never loved me. He never cared about me."

Stacy looked out the window. Snow was drifting down coating everything in an icy white blanket. She watched the people hurrying along the sidewalk and the cars passing on the street. Finally she turned back to Cameron.

"Do you still love him?" she asked Cameron.

Cameron looked at her. Stacy met her unflinching gaze.

"He corrupted my husband. He lied to me."

Stacy smiled slightly. "Do you still love him?" she asked again.

Cameron looked at Stacy for several long minutes. The anguish was gone and she wore an expression Stacy never thought she would see on Cameron's face, cynicism.

"House is not capable of love. He's arrogant, abrasive, rude, and selfish. All he cares about is solving his damn puzzle and controlling everyone and everything around him. He takes until you have nothing left to give and then leaves you empty and hollow. He thinks everything he does is right. He can't tell right from wrong. He can justify anything to suit his purpose. He is incapable of loving anyone."

"Do you still love him?"

Cameron picked up her purse and pulled out her wallet. She tossed some money on the table and stood up. She grabbed her coat and shrugged it on. Standing next to the table, she looked into Stacy's dark eyes.

"I fell in love with him the moment I met him. I will love him until the day I die and I hate myself for that."

Stacy watched her walk out of the diner. She pulled her phone out of her purse and made a call.

~*~*~*~

The treadmill whirred as she ran, her feet pounding on the moving belt. Cameron reached out and punched at the button that would increase the speed. Her heart hammered in her chest and her breath caught painfully but she continued to run.

A knock sounded on the door but she ignored it. She wiped away the sweat pouring into her eyes and continued to run. The knock sounded again, more forcefully this time.

"Cameron! Open the door."

Cameron stopped the treadmill and stepped off. She grabbed a towel and felt a momentary surge of déjà vu. Shaking her head, she opened the door. She looked at Wilson.

He stood in the hallway and looked at her. He was uncomfortable, hands shoved in his pockets, shifting from one foot to the other. She remained silent, watching him, enjoying his discomfort. She knew either Stacy or House sent him. Most likely it was Stacy.

"How are you?" Wilson finally asked.

"Betrayed," she told him. "You?"

He sighed. "May I come in?" he asked.

She stood back and he entered the small one room apartment. She had rented the first apartment she saw. The only furniture was the treadmill, a bed and a dresser. Everything else was still in the home she had shared with Chase.

Wilson stood in the center of the room. "Come back," he said.

Cameron shook her head. "No."

"He wanted you on his team. He still does."

Cameron sat down on the bed. She tossed the towel into the small laundry basket in the corner.

"Did he send you?" she asked.

Wilson shook his head. "Stacy called me. She's worried about you. She said you've changed."

Cameron looked at him with a mix of pity and disdain. "Don't you get tired of going behind House and cleaning up his messes?" she asked.

Wilson walked over to the treadmill and ran his fingers over the display panel. He seemed to be engrossed in the display but Cameron knew him too well. He was thinking of what he could say next to get her to change her mind.

"I'm not coming back," she told him. "It won't matter what you say. I'm not coming back. I can't let him ruin me the way he ruined Chase. And you."

Wilson turned and looked at her in surprise. "How has he ruined me?" he asked.

"You're his glorified errand boy; his cheering squad. Whatever you think he wants, you support. He knows he can manipulate you into doing whatever he wants. Even the fact that he was instrumental in the death of your girlfriend doesn't keep you from jumping through hoops for him," she sneered.

"It wasn't his fault," Wilson said defensively. "You even said that at one point. What the hell has happened to you?"

"House happened to me," she replied matter-of-factly. She stood up and began pacing around the room. "I realized I have some fundamental personality flaw. That flaw led me to marry a man I knew was going to die. It led me to fall in love with House and justify his insanity for years." She stopped in front of him and looked up into his eyes. "You have that same flaw. It's why we are both drawn to House. It's why you can overlook the fact that he contributed, even in some small way, to Amber's death. It's why we came back to him. He sees that flaw and uses it, encourages it, magnifies it."

Wilson stared at her in dismay. "You said you loved your first husband. You know how much I loved Amber."

"And did House ever really come to terms with the fact that you were in love with her? No. He played his stupid games with you, too. He ruined my marriage to Chase. He ruined my husband. He nearly ruined me. He's ruined you but you can't see it."

"He cares about you," Wilson said weakly.

Cameron began to laugh. She shook her head. "No, he doesn't. He cares about his puzzle and his games." She stopped laughing and sighed. "You've done your duty. You can go back and tell Stacy that all is well and I'm moving on. I've accepted a job in Chicago. I'll rebuild my life once again." She turned away. "I did it when my first husband died. I can do it again now that House has killed my marriage."

Wilson walked to the door. "I'll be working late tonight; all night most likely. He'll be home alone," he told her. He looked back at her. She stood, arms folded, looking at him dispassionately.

"Go tell him how you feel," he continued.

"I already did."

Wilson shook his head. "I don't think you told him the truth." He opened the door and left.

Cameron climbed back on the treadmill and began to run.

~*~*~*~

House awoke with a start. The television droned in the background and he could hear the faint sound of traffic from the street. Then he heard it again; a knock. He pushed himself up and went to the door. As he unlocked it and swung it open, he joked, "Forget your keys, Wilson?"

He looked down into Cameron's eyes. A smile spread across his face. He stepped back and allowed her to enter. He closed the door and limped back into the living room. He smirked at her. She smiled back. He noticed the smile didn't reach her eyes and he narrowed his eyes.

"I knew you'd change your mind and come back to me," he said smugly.

She folded her arms and her smile became brittle. "Of course," she said. "No one would leave you; not intentionally anyway."

His smile faded. He lowered his head slightly and stared at her.

"I mean," she continued, "the world revolves around you, right? You're never wrong. But, what is it you always like to remind us of?" She rubbed her chin. "Oh, yes. I remember. Everybody lies. Chase lies. Foreman lies. You lie. I lie." She tilted her head and continued to smile at him.

A cold tingle ran through him at her words and the sight of her smile. She advanced on him until his legs touched the end of the couch. She unfolded her arms and they stood chest to chest. Electricity surged between them but he ignored it. He always ignored it.

"You are incapable of love, House," she told him. "You're miserable so you want everyone around you to be miserable. Love is a delicate thing and you shred it with your reason and logic. I loved you and you nearly destroyed me because of it."

House's eyebrows drew together and he stared at her. Her words were like tiny barbs embedding themselves in his skin. He wanted to hurt her. He sat down on the arm of the couch and folded his arms. He spread his legs wide and slumped a bit.

"You didn't want to heal me," he sneered. "You wanted me to stay damaged and when I came back from Mayfield, you couldn't handle the fact that I changed; that I wasn't damaged anymore."

She laughed. Pain arced through his thigh but he ignored it. "You married Chase because you couldn't have me," he continued harshly. "You moved on to your next project. When you realized he wasn't needy and damaged enough for you, you ran away."

"You'd like to believe that's true. You don't want to face the fact that I don't love you anymore; that I've moved on and I no longer follow you around like a wide-eyed puppy hanging on your every word."

He unfolded his arms and rubbed his thigh. "Why are you here?" he asked wearily.

She seemed to deflate before his eyes. "I don't know," she said quietly. "I went to see Stacy. I intended to ask her if I could be implicated in Dibala's death if it ever comes out that Chase killed him. We ended up talking about you instead. Then Wilson came to see me and we talked about you again." She looked at him wearily. "I need to be free of you."

"You are. You broke up with me," he said with a slight smile.

She laughed softly. "I did, didn't I?" She turned to leave.

"You'll regret it if you leave," he told her.

Slowly she walked back toward him. He looked into her eyes searching for some sign of the Cameron he once knew. Instead he saw determination and a reflection of himself.

"You don't really want to go," he whispered.

"I have to. I can't let you destroy me, too."

Reaching out, he pulled her against him. She looked at him in defeat. His hand curved around the back of her neck. He kissed her lightly, his lips brushing against hers. She sighed, her warm breath flowing into his mouth. His other hand rested on the curve of her waist and he could feel her muscles begin to relax. He pulled her in for another, deeper kiss. If she was truly leaving, he wasn't going to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek. He was going to take all he could from her.

Something snapped between them and suddenly they were a tangle of hands, lips and tongues.

"Not here," he rasped against her mouth. "Bedroom."

He stood and pushed her backward toward his room, kissing her and shedding his clothes as they went. He stumbled over her sweater and she grasped his arms to steady him. Then they were on his bed and he was thrusting into her. He couldn't ignore the electricity between them this time. It was singing along his nerves, intensifying every one of his senses. He was hyper aware of the feel of her skin, the sound of her labored breathing, the sight of her beneath him, the delicate scent of her. When her muscles clenched, he felt himself fall over the edge. His eyes drifted shut and he surrendered to the pleasure spiraling through him.

He collapsed on her and then rolled to lie beside her. The pain in his leg was gone and his limbs felt heavy. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at her. She lay with her eyes closed, mouth open as she gasped for air. He rolled onto his side and draped his arm across her warm, damp body. Burying his face in the curve of her neck, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

~*~*~*~

When he awoke hours later, she was gone.


End file.
